


please don't write a poem about this later

by mahariels



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Kiss, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, awkward teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahariels/pseuds/mahariels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>adaar's first kiss is not exactly a success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please don't write a poem about this later

Taash winced as the last of the mercs dropped, his corpse burning gently. The death grip he had on his staff eased a little, but he didn’t let it go, just in case. An almost-dead merc had nearly taken Kaariss’ leg off the other day, and it was only Taash’s quick reaction that had saved him.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the body as the Valo-Kas took the field, spreading out to loot the remains. They were getting paid for this, of course, but as Shokrakar said, waste not, want not. He himself was wearing a doublet he’d stolen from another Tal-Vashoth several weeks ago. It had only needed a little cleaning and some patching and it was good as new. He had thought that it would get easier, doing this, but in the three years he’d been with the Valo-Kas, fifteen year old Taash hadn’t taken to killing the way some of the others had.

Every time, he felt terrible.

He looked out over the field. Shokrakar with her arms folded over her chest, watching them like a proud mother hen; Hissra dipping her head to take a better look at her bloody handiwork; Kaariss admiring a knife he’d taken from one of the corpses; and in the distance, Meraad, struggling to sit up, bleeding.

“Wait!” Taash called, throwing the staff (his mum had fitted it with a leather strap so that it would hang easily over his broad shoulders) over his back. “Meraad, don’t move!”

“Fuckin’ defransdim  _stabbed_  me.”

“You  _were_ trying to kill him,” Taash said, as he knelt next to his friend to examine his wounds. It was deep, and would need more than a needle and thread to heal, but it wasn’t serious enough that he couldn’t get Meraad back to camp before using his magic. 

“Yeah, but where the hell does he get off, stabbing me?” Meraad complained. “How’s it look, Doc?”

“You’re going to have a nice scar,” Taash replied. He could feel Kaariss at his side, looming behind him, watching his back even though he didn’t really need it. A fond warmth bloomed in his stomach, one that was there more and more often whenever he thought of his friend. “You’ll be happy to know. And I’m going to put a tourniquet on your arm so we can get you back to camp and I can wash it properly.”

“It fuckin’ _hurts_.”

“ _Meravas_ ,” Kaariss intoned from behind them, in a tone far more serious than the situation required, booming the words out dramatically. 

Meraad threw a boot at him. 

Later that night, after Taash had patched up Meraad’s shoulder, applied a healing poultice, and carefully sewn the wound shut, he and Kaariss sat by the fire, keeping watch while the other mercs had slept. Technically it was Kaariss’ watch, but Taash often joined him. It was easier to stay awake with company, and he liked Kaariss very much, even enjoyed listening to him recite his frankly terrible poetry. His latest enthusiasm was for sonnets (written about everything from Shokrakar’s prowess in battle to Taash’s _kind eyes_ ) and they were fucking awful. Not that Taash would ever tell him that. He liked listening to him talk far too much.

Kaariss slung an arm companionably over his shoulders and Taash ignored the butterflies that had suddenly colonized his stomach, fluttering around like it was their last day on earth. “Good work out there,” Kaariss said. “I particularly liked when you set that guy on fire.”

“That part was an accident,” Taash admitted. “I was just trying to knock him over.”

“You don’t know your own strength, little buddy.” It was their joke, because even though he was younger, Taash towered over Kaariss when they stood shoulder to shoulder. 

“I do know it,” he said, a little morosely. “I just wish…”

“What?”

“I don’t know, Kaariss, I just—I wish we didn’t have to _fight_  all of the time.”

“We’re _mercenaries,_ Taash, that’s what we do.”

“I know, but I… I didn’t really have a choice, you know? Mum and Da sent me here to learn from Sataa because they didn’t know where else I could go, but I don’t enjoy it. I’ve tried, but it’s just not me.”

“I know you don’t like hurting people, but you make up for it.”

“How?” Taash asked. “It’s not arithmetic.”

“Think of all of us whose lives you’ve saved,” Kaariss said, shifting so that he could look at Taash, lifting his chin up with one finger. “We’re all here because of you, Taash. Hell, I’d be dead scores of times over if it wasn’t for you.”

The firelight caught his brown eyes and glimmered over his dark gray skin, and the reckless fear that often overtook him on the battlefield gripped Taash in full force. He didn’t know _what_  he was doing when he leaned up to press his mouth against Kaariss’, a clumsy motion that he regretted almost as soon as he did it. Kaariss’ lips were soft but his beard scratched Taash’s skin. He grunted, surprised, and his mouth opened to Taash’s tongue. He tasted like the maraas-lok they’d shared earlier, and salt. He could feel his skin heating, embarrassment, excitement, complete disbelief, arousal—and then Kaariss pulled away.

“You know I’m not…” Kaariss said, when they broke apart. Taash couldn’t look at him, couldn’t see what his expression was like. His voice was painfully gentle. “I’m not like you, Taash. I mean, I _like_ you, you’re my shield brother and I love you, but I don’t—”

“I know,” Taash said. “You don’t have to explain. I don’t know what came over me.”

“My stunning good looks, of course,” Kaariss said, batting his eyelashes at him. “You don’t have to apologize. No one can resist me.”

“Is your next ode gonna be about _yourself_ , because that seems to be the way it’s heading.”

“I know just what I like, so at least the recipient will be grateful.”

“Shokrakar won’t want to hear it.”

“She never does. But I’m doing you all a favor, Taash. It’s _culture_. It’s _art_.”

“Uh huh,” he said, grinning. Kaariss was ridiculous, but that’s why Taash liked him so much. He was still burning with embarrassment, but luckily Kaariss had eased it. He was a good friend. A far better friend than Taash had ever thought to find when his parents had sent him off to the mercenaries. And if that’s all that he could be—Taash would get over it.

What really mattered was that they still fought, shoulder to shoulder, the next day, and Kaariss still teased him with terrible poetry.

In some ways, life with the Valo-Kas wasn’t so bad at all.


End file.
